Chapter 1

Hunting Beneath Starlight

Forty gold pieces were a small fortune for a man of Josip’s station. When he took the job of transporting two men across the Olen plains, the price had seemed too good to be true. But what were forty gold pieces to nobility? Now, Josip was convinced he was a terrible businessman. The trek from the Coalition war camp had been the most miserable journey of his career as a coachman. Rain had pounded them day and night for the first four days as they snaked their way across the Karsk Magistrala. Midway through the fifth day, the ancient road brought them to the foot of a steep hill. Branko—the personal guard of Josip’s passengers—called it Sume’s Fell. The road, once a broken stone path, had turned into a mere dirt track at the base of the moor-covered hill. Now, with all the bloody rain, Josip stared up at what could only be described as a muddy quagmire.

“Jebati,” he cursed in the Olenish tongue. He pulled on the reins, bringing the two garuda to a halt. “Wo-ho!” One of the giant birds shook its feathers violently, mirroring Josip’s frustration. He glanced at Branko, who sat beside him at the front of the carriage. “We’re not getting up this hill,” he said.

Branko, a hulking brute of a man, only grunted in reply. He pointed his large, hooked nose up at the hill, assessing the situation. “The rain’s slowed us by a day, I reckon,” Branko said, his voice grinding like stone against stone.

“This carriage and cargo are too heavy to crest the hill in all this mud,” Josip said.

Branko turned his small, dark eyes on Josip. Josip gulped. In the four days they had been sitting side by side, he hadn’t figured out Branko’s temperament and had no desire to find out now.

“Then we walk,” Branko said. He leapt off his perch, his feet squelching in the thick mud, and strode to the carriage door. He rapped his hard knuckles on the dirt-splattered door. Once, twice. A knock from inside answered.

Branko explained the situation, and Josip heard the men inside discuss briefly before giving Branko the affirmative. Soon, all four men were plodding up Sume’s Fell, floundering through the muck beside the lumbering carriage.

The garuda stopped to catch their breath several times, but eventually, after much time (and more swearing), the group crested the tall hill. The passengers returned to the comfort of the carriage, and Josip and Branko settled onto their perches. “Tst!” Josip snapped the reins and the garuda began their descent.

Eager to make up for lost time, Josip urged the garuda into a run as soon as they approached the bottom of the hill. Just as the carriage put Sume’s Fell behind them, a loud crack echoed from beneath Josip’s box, and the carriage crumpled awkwardly to the side. Josip yanked on the reins, bringing the giant birds to an abrupt stop and nearly sending himself careening out of the lopsided carriage. Forty gold pieces, he thought with a cruel smile. When they finally reached Perun, he would seriously reconsider his choice of work. He spat off the side of the carriage and pointed at the broken wheel. “Come on,” he told Branko. The behemoth simply shrugged before dismounting the carriage.

The sun had already set, and the darkening sky promised to make the wheel repair even more challenging. Josip inspected the damage. One of the front wheels had struck a crumbled section of the stone road and cracked two spokes near the axle. Luckily, it was an easy fix, but with the cost of a replacement wheel, trading out his garuda, and the delays on the journey, Josip felt his coin purse grow lighter by the second. “Grab me the fifth wheel from the front there,” he commanded Branko, gesturing towards the front of the carriage where he kept a spare wheel near the carriage shaft where the garuda harnesses connected to the main body.

He snatched one of the small lamps that hung near the driver’s seat to give himself better lighting and got to work removing the broken wheel.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

After two days of hunting the Maldrath, Mags finally found her marks. She crouched atop the hill, the chill of the night air tugging at her cloak. Below, the Karsk Magistrala stretched out like a fractured spine, the road’s ancient stones worn and crumbling, illuminated by the silver glow of the moon.

Her sharp eyes locked onto a stagecoach not far from the bottom of the hill. The vehicle leaned precariously to one side, its right wheel in pieces. Well, well, well… this is an unexpected discovery, she thought. Not many people traveled this far from the large cities and the comforts of civilization in the western enclaves of Olendar. At least, not by land.

Mags readjusted the bow slung across her shoulder, careful not to let it catch on the short scabbard nestled at the small of her back. She slipped a hand into her satchel, rummaging until her fingers found the smooth, metallic surface of what she sought. Carefully, she withdrew the brass spyglass, unfolded it, and peered through its eyehole at the dilapidated carriage. She needed a closer look before getting herself into a potentially dangerous situation.

As she expected, two garuda were harnessed to the stagecoach. Garuda were majestic creatures: large, flightless birds commonly used as mounts due to their incredible speed, power, and endurance. Their plumage and the scales on their muscular legs shimmered as they impatiently dug their talons into the mud. Two men stood near the broken wheel of the stagecoach, their backs to the hill. The first crouched near the front of the carriage, inspecting the damage. The second, a hulking figure, loomed over the first.

From the corner of her vision, Mags spotted what she had originally been hunting. This Maldrath was barely perceptible in the dark shroud of night—a denser mantle of darkness lurching toward the broken stagecoach from the side of the road. “Gotcha,” she breathed, a smile blossoming at the corner of her mouth. There were two issues. First, the Maldrath was far too close to the unsuspecting strangers. She needed to move quickly to stop the monster from ambushing the two men. Second, there had been two Maldrath when she set off from Solstice, and there were no signs of the other one. I’ll just have to deal with that problem later.

With that thought, she deposited the spyglass into her pack, tightened her cloak around her, and began her descent down the hillside. Her descent was swift and silent—even on the rain-soaked mud—her movements honed by years of practice. Each step was calculated, avoiding loose stones and twigs that might betray her presence.

As she neared the stagecoach, Mags got a better impression of the two men. The first, likely the stagecoach’s driver, was a short, wiry man in a travel-worn uniform. He worked on removing the broken wheel from the front of the vehicle. The second man was a wall of muscle in dark leathers, with a large hooked nose and black hair jutting from his head like porcupine quills.

“I’m telling you, put that thing down and help me get this wheel off!” the driver shouted, his voice tinged with panic and frustration. His face was flushed, and sweat gleamed on his forehead despite the cool night air.

“And I’m telling you, that ain’t gonna happen, boss,” the large man retorted.

Mags approached the two men and the feeble light of their coach lantern. Her presence immediately drew the attention of the larger man. He spun, leveling an aether blunderbuss at her. The driver, startled, fumbled for his own weapon, an aether pistol, his eyes wide with fear. “Yo there!” exclaimed the large man. “Not a step closer!”

She raised her hands in a placating gesture, her voice calm and steady. “I’m not here to harm you. Just passing through. May I step into the light?”

“Aye, but keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Cautiously, she stepped into the lantern light. The man took her in with his beady dark eyes, his thoughts betrayed by his furrowed brow and puzzled frown. Mags didn’t blame him. She probably painted an interesting picture: a young girl, no older than eighteen, shorter than most Olenish, wandering alone in the night.

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“What’s a slip of a thing like you doing out here alone in the middle of the night?” he asked, not lowering his blunderbuss. Mags silently prayed he was well-trained with the weapon and not trigger-happy. Too many folks shoot first and ask questions later.

“Hunting,” she said.

“Hunting,” the man echoed incredulously. Clearly, it was not the response he had expected.

Before Mags could respond, a sound from the shadows drew their attention. A figure, the distorted outline of a human shape, stumbling and awkward, emerged from the darkness, moving toward them with an eerie, unnatural gait. The large man glanced at the approaching silhouette before retraining his dark eyes on Mags with a sneer. Must think I’m a bandit, she thought. The driver, still crouched near the broken wheel, aimed his pistol at the approaching figure, his hands shaking. “Stop! Don’t come any closer!”

The figure continued its approach, unheeding. As it drew nearer, two glowing yellow eyes flickered into existence. The creature lurched forward with alarming speed. The driver fired, his pistol exploding in a cloud of blue and green smoke as the aether charge ignited. The flare of light struck the figure right between the two yellow orbs, which flickered out, casting the area back into darkness.

In the tense silence that followed, none of the three moved. Not even Mags, though she knew a single shot wouldn’t take down even the weakest of Maldrath. All Maldrath exuded an aura of fear that paralyzed their prey. This Maldrath’s aura extended from its body, freezing them in place. Luckily, years of hunting the creatures had conditioned her to fight the aura. She tensed her muscles, ready to act, but kept her eyes on the blunderbuss still aimed at her. The two yellow orbs reignited, and the Maldrath sprinted toward them with a horrifying burst of speed, its limbs elongated at unnatural angles. Mags moved swiftly, positioning herself between the driver and the creature. The bodyguard swiveled and fired his blunderbuss, the heavy discharge hitting the Maldrath square in the chest in another burst of green and red smoke. The creature was knocked prone but still writhed, shadows boiling around it, struggling to reform.

“It won’t stay down,” she warned, drawing the sword sheathed at her back. The blade, black as night, absorbed the light around it, three feet long and ending in a clean diagonal break, as if severed. Its handle, a hand-and-a-half in length, wrapped in dark leather, felt natural in her hands. She advanced on the fallen Maldrath, its form beginning to reconstitute. The head rose first, an elongated neck of shadows supporting a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth that glinted in the moonlight.

With a precise, powerful slash, she beheaded the creature. Its head disintegrated into a sand-like substance, carried away by a phantom breeze. The body followed suit, dissolving into nothingness, leaving no trace of its sinister presence.

“What’s all this commotion about?” a new voice asked, its rich baritone cutting through the thick silence in the air. A tall, handsome man emerged from the stagecoach. He was Olenish—his dark skin similar to Mags’ and he was nearly seven feet tall. His eyes, framed by a face of sharp angles, were a light shade of green that glowed faintly in the lantern light—an unmistakable sign of nobility. His clothes were fine, a rich cloak draped over his shoulders, another symbol of his high status.

“Maldrath,” Mags said, her voice steady.

The passenger’s eyes took in the scene, passing over the other two men. The driver and bodyguard nodded in agreement, their expressions still reflecting lingering fear. His eyes then settled on Mags. After a moment of silence, it dawned on her that he was waiting for a more detailed explanation.

“I was tracking a pair of Maldrath initially spotted near Solstice, not far from the base of the Velav Mountains east of here,” she said. “They made it all the way out here before I caught this one trying to spring on your men.” She pointed her blade at the dissolving remains of the Maldrath. Where the shadowy creature once stood, nestled in the wet grass, was a shining piece of stone. The prismatic crystal, about the size of her fingernail, was unmistakable in the lantern light. It was the Maldrath’s aether core, and exactly why she had been hunting the creatures in the first place. Mags crouched and took the crystal between her fingers, examining it. It was smaller than she’d have liked, given the days she’d spent tracking the monster, but it was better than nothing.

“Solstice,” the man said, tapping his lips as he thought. “Yes, I know the place. This Maldrath wandered pretty far.”

“It got lucky,” she said, standing and depositing the aether core into her satchel. “They don’t usually slip away from me.”

“Thank you for saving my men,” he said warmly. “I am Ban Lorenz.”

Mags inclined her head, acknowledging his gratitude. “My pleasure,” she said. She sheathed her blade with a practiced flourish. “Now, my princeling, I must be off. This beastie had a partner I still need to track down.”

“Josip!” the bodyguard exclaimed.

She followed his gaze to where the driver had been crouched near the stagecoach. A tentacle of pure shadow extended from beneath the carriage, coiled around the small man’s mouth. His eyes bulged as his hands feebly clawed at the inky black appendage. Another tentacle shot out, wrapping around his arm and torso with terrifying speed.

Mags reached to draw her sword, but was too slow. Ban moved in a blur, his reaction instantaneous. She opened her mouth to shout and stop him before he got hurt trying to play hero. Ban leapt forward with inhuman speed, grabbing the tentacle constricting Josip’s arm with surprising strength. A Soulsinger, she thought. Of course, Ban, a noble, had access to magic. The Maldrath released a frustrated hiss that sounded like a cacophony of children’s screams as it tried to wrench itself from Ban’s grasp. But Ban’s magically enhanced strength was too much for it. He drew a dagger with a bone-white blade, silver runes dancing across the enchanted steel. An Ivaldi-wrought weapon, like her own sword, she observed. In swift, precise movements, he sliced through the tentacle, the blade glowing faintly as it cleaved through the shadowy appendage. The tentacle dissolved into the air, evaporating like mist.

The Maldrath tried to flee, pulling Josip into the darkness. “Not so fast!” Mags exclaimed. While not as fast as Ban, she drew her sword and cut off the Maldrath before it could escape. A piercing yellow orb materialized from its inky black body, glaring at Mags. Several tentacles shot from its body toward her. She leapt, dodging the black spears in midair, and fell, her blade an ebony scythe above her head, plunging the flat point of her sword directly into the Maldrath’s eye.

The blade cut deep, and almost immediately, the Maldrath began to dissolve, relinquishing Josip. The coachman fell back, gasping for breath, his face pale. “Thank you, Master Lorenz,” he panted, looking up at Ban with wide eyes. “And you too,” he added, nodding at Mags, who stood over him, sheathing her blade.

She looked at Ban with newfound respect. “You're an awakened Soulsinger,” she said, her voice filled with admiration.

He nodded, sheathing his dagger with a practiced motion. “I try not to use my magic, but I couldn’t let these abominations harm my people.”

She retrieved the aether core from the dissolving remains of the second Maldrath, placing the prismatic crystals in the same pocket of her bag as the first. This one was a tad larger, though not by much. “Well,” she said, brushing off her pants and readjusting her cloak, “I best be off.”

As she turned to leave, Ban called out. “Your name?” he asked, his eyes softening with curiosity and gratitude.

She turned and gave a shallow bow. “Magdalena,” she replied, her voice carrying a hint of a smile, before disappearing into the night, her silhouette merging with the shadows of the plains.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Leaving the stagecoach far behind, Mags hiked eastward for hours, her steps steady and purposeful. The night’s silence was punctuated only by the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures and the whisper of wind through the brush of the heather. Her thoughts flickered back to the encounter, and Ban’s superhuman speed and reflexes. What I would give to have just a fraction of that magic running through my veins. Her mind wandered back further, to her childhood and a manor that sat alone atop a hill. She quickly pushed the thoughts away, ignoring the ache that prickled deep in her chest. The Maldrath were a problem dealt with; now she had other matters to attend to. The hunt had taken far too long, and she needed to get back home.

As she trekked on, the sky overhead transformed into a cosmic display. Swirling rivers of colorful starlight painted the heavens, creating a breathtaking vista. Mags halted, her breath catching at the sight of the starlight swimmers. These ethereal beings, with their umbrella-shaped, luminescent bodies and trailing tails of light, drifted through the air in a synchronized dance. The starlight swimmers—as Mags always heard them referred to as for the way they swam through the air—were a rare sight. Even more so with the steady rain these parts had seen the past several days. The school, comprised of about twenty of the creatures, moved as one, their undulating motions leaving a trail of shimmering starlight in their wake.

The starlight swimmers were like a painting come to life, making the blanket of stars that hung in the night’s sky seem muted in comparison. For a moment, Mags felt a rare sense of peace. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?’ she murmured to herself, letting the wonder wash over her. But beauty didn’t put food in her belly or protect against the elements and dangers of the wilds. She needed to find a place to make camp, and soon.

Recalling a copse of trees she had passed earlier in the day, she adjusted her course, leaving the river of starlight swimmers behind her as they continued their own journey across the night’s sky.

Reaching the copse, she found a relatively dry spot beneath the canopy, the ground cushioned with a natural duff of fallen leaves. A quick investigation confirmed her worry that most of the nearby twigs and firewood were still damp from the rains, so she opted to forgo a campfire. Wrapping herself tightly in her cloak, she let the trees shield her from the wind. Exhaustion soon claimed her, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.